


The Gift of Giving

by yesterday



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel), DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday/pseuds/yesterday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aoba, Koujaku, and the holiday dilemma that everyone knows and hates: what to get your significant other for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of Giving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> this is my gift for lunasaltator, as part of the dmmd ss exchange this year! i'm terribly sorry it's late, and i hope you enjoy it! happy holidays!!

“Ow, ow-- oi, Aoba, be gentle.” Koujaku winces, but he patiently holds still nonetheless. “Take it easy on me.” 

“I’m trying,” Aoba huffs. “Stop whining already, you’re the one who said I could do it.” 

“And you can,” Koujaku says, leaning back. “But you have to relax. Don’t force it.” 

“I’m not forcing it, I’m… there! Finally.” Throwing his hands up, Aoba surveys his handiwork. The braid woven into Koujaku’s hair could be called deconstructed at best, and an absolute disaster if they’re being honest. “Maybe I could use more practice.” 

Bringing the braid over his shoulder, Koujaku surveys it ruefully. “It isn’t bad, for a beginner. You can practice more on me, until your hair grows back.” 

“Really?” Perking up, Aoba looks hopefully at Koujaku. 

“Sure.” Koujaku smiles at Aoba, and then reels him in for a kiss that leaves Aoba flushed. “We should get going now, though.”

“Ah, right. I’m starting to get hungry.” 

It’s half past noon on an overcast fall-verging-on-winter day. Weak rays of sunlight struggle past the clouds, and it’s cool. Aoba’s reluctant to leave the cozy nest of blankets that he’s bundled himself into on Koujaku’s bed, the cover slung over his shoulders like a cape. He spent the night at Koujaku’s place, and they had both been… distracted. Because of that, they forgot to turn the heat on. Wriggling towards the edge of the bed, towards Koujaku, Aoba tentatively swings his bare feet onto the floor, and immediately recoils. 

“It’s way too cold,” he complains.

Koujaku only laughs at him. “It’s December, Aoba. Of course it’s cold.”

“I know what month it is!” With a final grumble, Aoba shakes off the blanket and leaves it behind in a crumpled heap on the bed. 

“Then why are you surprised?” Koujaku seizes Aoba from behind, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling his face against the top of Aoba’s head. Aoba squirms relentlessly, relaxing only when the warmth of Koujaku’s hold sinks past his thin, borrowed t-shirt. “If it’s too cold, maybe we should stay in. I don’t want you to get sick.” 

The concern in Koujaku’s voice is sincere, and Aoba peers up at him. Koujaku gazes back down at him, frowning. Sighing, Aoba grazes his jaw with a kiss, batting his eyelashes at him. “No, it’s fine. And…” His voice goes falsetto, into a flirtatious pitch that he hears more often than not addressed to Koujaku. “If I do get sick, you’ll just have to nurse me back to health. Right? Koujaku-san.” 

Jaw dropping, Koujaku sputters. Aoba takes advantage of his shock, slipping out of his arms (regretfully) with a smirk thrown over his shoulder. He wasn’t lying-- it really _is_ freezing in Koujaku’s apartment, and putting his jeans back on will probably help. By the time Koujaku unfreezes and starts to get dressed too, Aoba’s already done, tucking himself into his jacket and buttoning it up. 

“No kimono today?” he asks, as Koujaku pulls a burgundy v-neck over him, and his eyes linger briefly on the dark swirl of tattoos on his chest, before he averts his eyes. It’s rare to see Koujaku wear western style clothing. 

“Not today,” Koujaku says. “It’s cold out, like you said. Are you sure that jacket will be warm enough?”

“I was kidding about making you nurse me!” Aoba laughs. “This is fine. Ah- but I wouldn’t mind a scarf, or something.” 

“Coming right up.” 

That’s how Aoba ends up with a thick, knitted grey scarf looped around his neck. It smells like Koujaku, and the heat rises to his face. He tugs it down a little, inconspicuously. Koujaku’s shrugging into a black peacoat, complementing his dark jeans. Aoba watches as he carefully adjusts the braid, letting it lie over his shoulder. He pauses. 

“Aren’t you going to take that out?” 

“Mm?” Koujaku is already opening the door. His figure is clean cut, the clothing more sombre than the flashiness of his usual attire, but it suits him, Aoba thinks. In comparison, he feels thrown together. It’s been months since they’ve gone from friends to lovers, but he hasn’t left many of his belongings at Koujaku’s place, out of a lingering awkwardness. He’s beginning to wonder if he should. A change of clothes or two at least would be good. Koujaku fingers the braid, and then smiles at Aoba. He says: “No, why would I? It’s something you did for me, after all.”

“Eh?” Aoba blinks at him, cheeks going hot. 

Koujaku chuckles, and leans down to kiss Aoba, warm and full on the mouth before he opens the door. Dazed, Aoba doesn’t realise he’s holding it open for him until a moment later. 

Shooting him a glare, Aoba concedes his defeat with a huff, and steps outside. “You’re really unfair, you know.” 

“Unfair? Aoba, you wound me.” Koujaku runs his knuckles over the curve of Aoba’s cheek tenderly, affection obvious in his gaze. “I’m only telling the truth.”

Aoba’s face flares up hot, and it has everything and nothing to do with the manner that Koujaku’s treating him-- like a girl, like someone precious, which he supposes he is, to Koujaku. Someone precious, not a girl. Koujaku hasn’t made that mistake since the first few times they met as children, and there’s absolutely no way he could think that now. Not when they’ve gotten as familiar as they have with each others’ bodies. Nobody could ever mistake _Koujaku_ for a girl.

“Aoba?” Koujaku says, and he stops zoning out.

“Right. The truth. Anyway, let’s go!” Flustered but trying to hide it, Aoba patters out of the apartment at top speed, tilting his head back and letting the cold air cool him down. His breath is a white cloud before him when he exhales. Overhead, the clouds hang low and dark over the town. He wonders if it’ll snow this year. 

The two of them amble through the streets, sticking to side streets and shortcuts. Rumour spread after the _tamaokuri_ that Koujaku was seeing someone, that he no longer fools around, to his fans’ dismay. However, that doesn’t prevent some of them from approaching every so often and trying to wheedle some clue out of Koujaku as to the validity of the rumour, and if true, who the lucky girl is. Sometimes Aoba has to laugh at that-- the ensuing awkwardness that follows, and the comfortable knowledge that this lucky guy is whom Koujaku’s chosen. He told Koujaku before at the start of their relationship that he didn’t mind it. His fanbase. Aoba understands that they make up a great deal of their customers, but he appreciates it. That Koujaku’s managed to gently let them down. He hates to admit it, but despite his best efforts, he did get jealous every so often. 

Still, two good friends heading out to grab a bite to eat together is perfectly normal. They chat companionably as they walk, with plenty of bickering and teasing between the two of them. Their hands brush by each other’s every so often as they walk.

“It’s starting to get really cold,” Aoba sighs, once they’re ensconced in the warmth of the small noodle shop they’ve decided to eat at. 

“It _is_ winter,” Koujaku says. “Though I prefer the heat myself too. By the way, Aoba…” 

“Hmm?” 

Koujaku is fiddling nervously with his hair, smoothing down the frayed pieces of his braid as though that’ll keep it together. Thoroughly preoccupied as he is with his food, Aoba hardly notices. He clears his throat, and asks casually, “Are you free later this month? On the 24th?”

“I think so, yeah. Why?” 

“Keep it open for me, will you?” Waving down a waiter for the bill, Koujaku adds, “And this one’s on me.”

“Sure, but-- hey, wait, you don’t have to pay for me!” 

The ensuing fight over the bill completely and thoroughly distracts Aoba, and in the end, he loses. But while Koujaku may have won the battle, he hasn’t won the war yet. Next time, Aoba tells himself. He’ll make the first move. 

It isn’t until he gets home that he remembers Koujaku’s other request, and realisation hits him like he’s walked straight into a brick wall. Christmas Eve is date night in Midorijima, and Koujaku-- Koujaku, that sly, dastardly jerk had gotten the slip on him and asked him out while Aoba was completely distracted by the delicious bowl of udon that he’d been eating. The sheer nerve of it, the audacity, and how utterly smooth Koujaku was about it leaves him in shock for another ten minutes. 

“Ren,” he mumbles afterwards, still in a daze. Ren nudges Aoba from his facedown position on his bed, wagging his tail as he sits by his pillow. “What do I do?”

“I believe you will not have to do anything,” Ren says. “It seems as though Koujaku has an event planned.” 

“You’re probably right, but I can’t just not do anything! I should at least get him a present.” Aoba pauses, and then groans again. “I don’t even know what to get him! What should I do?” 

“Koujaku will appreciate anything you get him, Aoba.” 

“I know that, but it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try my best to pick out something he’ll like.” Going over ideas in his head, Aoba lists off all the possible things he could get Koujaku: alcohol (didn’t he give him that already?), another hairpin, a kimono (expensive), but none of them seem quite right. Luckily, he has two weeks to figure things out and put together something to give to Koujaku.

 

\-----

 

In the end, Aoba resorts to desperate measures.

“So,” he begins, “This is kind of a weird question, but what do you think Koujaku would want for Christmas?”

Kou has Ren in his arms, and he’s enthusiastically petting him while telling him what a good dog he is, while Hagima and Aoba are doing their very best to carry on a serious adult conversation. 

“I guess you joining Benishigure’s out of the question,” Hagima says, blunt and matter of fact. 

Aoba winces, and tries to keep smiling. It grows forced. “Ah… yeah, Rib isn’t really my thing.” 

“Too bad, too bad. It was worth a shot. Oi, Kou, what do you think?” 

“I think you should get him a puppy!” Ren gives Aoba a distinctly long suffering look as Kou continues to hang onto him, and Aoba grins at him. 

“He’s already got Beni though.” Aoba points out. 

“You’re right, but don’t you think something about Koujaku-san says “dog type”?” Kou is cheerful, unburdened by the same dilemma that Aoba’s currently facing. “But if it’s you, I think he’ll be happy with whatever he gets.” 

“Great,” Aoba says helplessly, and thinks to himself that he shouldn’t be blaming either of them. He’s the one who came to them for help, after all. He wrangles Ren from Kou with a smile, and nods. “Okay, thanks. Don’t tell Koujaku I was asking, all right? I’ll see you around!”

“Bring Ren around again soon, Aoba!”

“Good luck!”

 

\-----

 

The problem continues to plague him at work, and Aoba’s so completely distracted by it that he doesn’t even notice the customer entering the junk shop.

“Hey,” Noiz says, all impudence and demand for attention as he steps directly in front of Aoba’s desk, hands jammed in his pockets. “You asleep or something?”

Startled, Aoba nearly falls out of his chair. “Give a guy a little warning, jeez!” Trying to calm his racing heart, Aoba steadies himself and takes a deep breath. “Anyway, what do you want? And can you back up a little?”

“Why?” 

“Because I’m asking you nicely? ...ah!! Actually, I have something I want to ask you!” In a way, Noiz showing up unexpectedly proves to be great timing. Aoba isn’t sure what he wants, but he figures he should take the chance while he has it. Before Noiz gets the chance to spring whatever it is he wants from Aoba on him. “What would you get someone for a present?”

Silence follows, and Noiz’s expression twitches into a frown. It’s fascinating, actually. Noiz hardly ever seems to wear anything but a blank mask of apathy on his face that Aoba finds himself staring at this sign of human life. “What a weird question.” 

“Come on, help me out here!” This is a new low he’s sunk to. Noiz hardly seems like the gift-giving type, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

With a shrug, Noiz glances to the side. “Don’t know.”

Aoba drops his head on the counter with a thunk and a groan. Raising it slightly, he tries again. “Then… what would you want to get for a present?”

“...whatever. I’d be happy with whatever. Just getting something would be enough.” 

“Not you too!” Aoba shouts, and then promptly kicks Noiz out of the store.

 

\-----

 

But thinking back on it, maybe that was a little rude. He didn’t tell Noiz who he was getting the present for, because he knows that he wouldn’t have gotten any answer or at all then.

“They’re right, you know,” Mizuki says, and it’s no comfort whatsoever.

“I thought bartenders were supposed to be sympathetic,” Aoba says, halfway gone on his second drink of the night. Whatever he’s having, it’s strong, and while he isn’t a heavy drinker typically, the phrase “drown your sorrows” applies thoroughly to this situation. Aoba grieves his lack of natural talent in picking out perfect presents for people. 

“I’m an artist; bartending is a side job,” Mizuki laughs. “And artists are… well, as your good friend, I can tell you that Koujaku would be happy with a rock, as long as it came from you.” 

“I’m not giving Koujaku a rock for Christmas.” Squinting at Mizuki, he tries to tell if he’s making fun of him, and suspects he is. 

“It was an example. How about alcohol, then? Sake.” Mizuki vanishes briefly from view when he ducks beneath the bar, and re-emerges with a bottle of liquor. He brandishes it at Aoba proudly, throwing him a broad wink. “Now, this here is pretty expensive normally, but I’ll give you a discount for it.” 

“Nice try,” Aoba scoffs. “But I already got him that last year.” 

“Then it’s tried and tested!” 

“The only one trying and testing me now is you. You just want to make a sale!” Despite himself, Aoba laughs. 

“There, that’s better.” Mizuki looks satisfied, crossing his arms and nodding. “I can tell you one thing for sure, Aoba. Koujaku wouldn’t want you to worry so much about what to get him.” 

The worst part is that Aoba knows he’s right. The best part is that he remembers their conversation the morning after, even with the pounding headache that his hangover leaves him with. The annoying part is realising that he’s the one making it harder than it has to be for himself, not that that’s ever stopped him. There is less than four days left before the 24th, and he is still woefully, dreadfully stuck.

 

\-----

 

Which is why over the course of the next two days, Aoba talks to a handful of other people on the subject of gifts. Clear suggests that he wrap himself up in nothing but ribbon and be the gift, an idea that Aoba immediately shot down (only to catalogue it in his head for a future event-- Valentine’s maybe). Somehow, after a great deal of wheedling and coaxing and bargaining with Noiz, he gets Mink’s number and texts him. The text back is curt, and tells him in polite words to fuck off, and that something handmade tends to mean more. Aoba hadn’t expected an answer at all, and he has to reevaluate Mink once more after it.

But it gives him an idea. Several shopping trips later, Aoba is ready for Christmas Eve. Koujaku sends him a text during that time, telling him to drop by in the evening, and Aoba promptly gets a stomachache born from nerves. But he tells himself that everything will be fine. He realises with a sudden jolt that he’s hardly seen Koujaku at all either. They’ve only spoken with one another in a passing, here and there on the street. It isn’t unusual. From what Aoba’s noticed over the years, the weeks leading up to Christmas tends to be busy with customers wanting Koujaku to get them looking their very best in time for the holidays. 

On the morning of the 24th, Aoba wages war in the kitchen, with Tae acting as his commanding officer. 

“What if it’s awful, Granny?” Aoba asks Tae as he washes up the dishes. 

Tae snorts, and cuffs Aoba over the head. “The only thing that can ruin it at this point is if you burn it. I watched you make it-- good thing too, or you would have mixed up the sugar and the salt!”

Aoba glances at his Coil. The timer is running, and there are minutes to go. He finishes the last dish, setting it into the drying rack carefully. Before he can go hover by the oven door, Tae shoos him right out of the kitchen. 

“I’ll take it out to cool for you,” she says. “Don’t you have a present to wrap?”

“...thanks, Granny. You’re the best.” Aoba doesn’t dare argue with her, and Tae of all people wouldn’t let any mishaps occur in her kitchen. Aoba bounds up the stairs to finish off the last of his preparations. His room is left in an explosion of wrapping paper and ribbon when he’s finished, but Aoba emerges triumphant, gift stowed away securely in a shopping bag. 

Tae hands him a second bag in the foyer, and Aoba hangs onto the handles carefully. She gives him an all too knowing look when he tells her that he’ll be out late tonight, and not to wait up. And then Aoba is out the door.

 

\-----

 

It’s warm and well-lit inside Koujaku’s apartment, a delicious aroma of food wafting through the door the instant Aoba steps in, following Koujaku’s _come in, the door’s unlocked_. So he does, leaving his shoes by the door.

Aoba’s jaw drops when he reaches the kitchen, and Koujaku beams at him from the dining table, embarrassed but proud. As he should be, considering the tableau spread out-- he’s cooked dinner for two. Mostly traditional dishes (it’s just like him, Aoba thinks), like miso with tiny, delicate green onion rings and tofu floating in it, perfectly fried tempura on the side along with a bowl of rice, what looks like a seafood sunomomo beside that, and grilled, tender salmon as a main. 

“You didn’t hold back, did you?” Aoba says, stunned. “This looks amazing!”

“Ah, no, it isn’t much. But I thought it would be nice, since it’s… difficult for us to spend any other holidays together,” Koujaku says. “What do you think?”

He comes back around the dining table, and Aoba impulsively snags him by the wrist, leaning up to kiss Koujaku on the cheek. Contentment settles deep into his bones, and Aoba grins at him. “I already told you it looks amazing, you hippo. Are you fishing for compliments?”

“I’m not!” Koujaku protests, laughing. The faintest flush appears on his face, and he catches Aoba’s hand, lacing their fingers together. He adds, “Merry Christmas, Aoba.” 

“Merry Christmas, Koujaku.” The bags at his side rustles when Koujaku dips his head down to kiss Aoba again, this time full and long on the mouth. Aoba pulls away in the end, more dazed than ever. It takes him a moment to remember what else he needed to do, and he hastily says, “Oh, and I brought dessert. Let me put it in the fridge.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to remove the white box from the bag and deposit it into Koujaku’s fridge-- he’s familiar with the entirety of the apartment, after all. With that done, he returns to the dining room table, and sits down with Koujaku. They work their way through the dishes, with Koujaku teasing Aoba periodically, holding out bits of food and cajoling him into trying it. Everything tastes delicious. 

“You never told me you knew how to cook so well,” Aoba accuses. Every dish is just about gone, every bite savoured. 

“I wasn’t trying to hide it,” Koujaku says. “When you live alone, you pick up on it.”

“Then how come we always eat out?” Aoba asks.

Koujaku has the decency to look embarrassed. “Well… I can cook just fine, but I forget to go shopping sometimes.”

Aoba bursts out laughing, and he doesn’t stop until Koujaku gets up from his side of the table and hoists Aoba out of his chair, nuzzling the top of his head. Koujaku runs his hands up his sides, which only prolongs his laughter, his entire body quivering. Crying out for mercy, Aoba tips his head back onto Koujaku’s chest and presenting his face for another kiss. He rests his arms over Koujaku’s, which are wrapped around him. 

“Dessert,” Aoba says. “It’s in the fridge.” 

“I thought you were the dessert,” Koujaku teases, and Aoba smacks him on the arm. “Oi-- what was that for?”

“For saying something embarrassing,” Aoba retorts. “Let’s eat it, okay? I worked really hard on it!” 

Koujaku releases Aoba, and Aoba scurries to the fridge, pulling out the box. He sets it on the kitchen counter, unwrapping the box and leaving it there as he pulls out cutlery and plates from the drawers. 

“You made this, Aoba?” Koujaku sticks a finger in the whipped cream, and tastes it. “Oh-- it’s good.”

“Hey, keep your hands out of there!” Aoba concentrates on cutting slices out of the cake instead, ears red. “And yeah. I was having a lot of trouble deciding what to get you. I even ended up asking a bunch of people what I should do, but everyone kept telling me that no matter what I got you, you’d like it. I kept thinking that I wanted to do something special, though, so I thought I’d cook something. Looks like we kind of had the same idea though.” 

“It’s true,” Koujaku says. “I always treasure anything, when it comes from you. Knowing that you took the time to make something just for me makes it extra special.”

“Can you be any more sappy? I know that already, you don’t need to tell me too!” Struggling to hide the blush on his face, Aoba hands Koujaku a slice of the strawberry shortcake he made. He doesn’t need to make eye contact to see the fond look that’s surely residing there in Koujaku’s eyes. It’s said in the lingering brush of his hand as he takes the plate, and how he obediently digs into dessert without another word. 

Cutting a slice for himself, Aoba takes a tentative bite of the cake. He’s relieved to find that it tastes perfect-- light, fluffy and sweet. They eat together in comfortable silence. Tae tells him that silence during a meal isn’t necessarily bad-- it means that everyone is so busy enjoying and savouring it to talk. Aoba assumes that’s the case now, and he licks the cream off his fingers, pleased. When Koujaku takes his hand to finish the job off for him, Aoba doesn’t say anything. 

Everything he would have and could have said is transformed into language of another kind. The caress of his hand at Koujaku’s jaw, a soft sigh, the creak of the bed beneath their bodies, and the ragged harmony of their breaths. Koujaku’s a comfortable presence beside Aoba, his arm draped securely over Aoba. 

Until Aoba sits bolt upright, hair mussed and eyes wide. “I forgot about the other present!! No-- I mean, I didn’t forget to bring it, but shouldn’t we have opened them first?” 

“Isn’t it fine to do whatever we want first?” Koujaku hangs on to Aoba, touching him for the sake of it. He smooths down Aoba’s hair, and sits up, stretching his arms over his shoulder.

“You distracted me,” Aoba scowls at Koujaku. 

“Ah, but you looked so sweet licking the cream from your fingers that I couldn’t help myself.” Koujaku is smiling at Aoba again, and Aoba kicks him beneath the covers. 

“Grab my present for you already!”

“Yes, yes, coming right up.” Hauling himself out of bed, Koujaku disappears from the bedroom. Aoba dives back beneath the blankets, rolling into the warm spot on the bed that Koujaku vacated. Normally, he would sink back into a doze, but he’s too excited. In the end, he got Koujaku something fairly practical, but he hopes he’ll appreciate it regardless. No, he knows he will, given what everyone and their damn mom has been telling him. Still… 

Re-entering the bedroom, Koujaku holds two packages in hand-- one that Aoba recognises as his own gift to Koujaku, and another that must be for him. His suspicions are confirmed when Koujaku hands it to him. 

“Open yours first,” he tells Koujaku. 

“You did a good job wrapping it,” Koujaku says, as he neatly peels the tape back from the paper, taking care not to rip it. The box beneath the paper is plain on the outside, with no discerning features. Koujaku lifts open the lid to reveal its contents, gently removing them. He lays them out on the bed. The first item is a silk obi, gold and wrought with fine slubs of brown silk densely sewn together to form branches and leaves, where cardinals were perched or caught in flight, resplendent and crimson on them. Koujaku draws his hand over it, feeling out the weave and features going soft with an emotion that Aoba can’t quite place. The obi goes well with the dark brown leather bag that lies by it, a pouch Aoba thought could replace the current one that Koujaku uses to hold all of his hairdressing tools. Koujaku clears his throat. “Aoba…” 

“Your bag right now was looking kind of worn out,” Aoba interrupts. “So I thought I’d get you a new one. And I found that obi-- I wasn’t planning to get anything else, but when I saw it, I thought of you.”

“Who’s being unfair now? Saying something like that… you really are incredible.” Koujaku sneaks his hand over the bed, and rubs his thumb over Aoba’s knuckles. “They’re perfect, Aoba. Thank you.” 

Feeling his face heat up, Aoba hides his embarrassment by ducking his head. He opens the present Koujaku got him, eyes falling on a familiar logo on top of the box. Pulling out the coat, Aoba holds it up. It’s a long, thigh length coat, similar in the style to the one Koujaku wore when they went out to udon. But it’s a powdery blue rather than black, with the Jerry Blaine logo embroidered on the back. 

“This is from the winter line that just came out!” Aoba says, grinning. “I was super close to getting this, actually!” 

“That jacket of yours right now doesn’t even go down to your hips,” Koujaku laughs. “And you looked so cold when we went out last time, I had to get a proper coat for you.” 

“What are you, my mom?” Aoba shoots back, saucy. He squeezes Koujaku’s hand, smiling. “Kidding. Ahh, I feel seriously lucky right now. Like I should go thank the gods for winning you over when no one else has? Or something, haha.”

“I’m the one who’s lucky,” Koujaku says.

Aoba shakes his head. “Nope, it’s me.”

“Aoba… you should let me win for once.”

“Nuh-uh.” Sticking his tongue out at him, Aoba can’t stop the stupidly wide grin from spreading even wider on his face. 

“Seriously, you…!” 

Yelping, Aoba scrambles to struggle away when Koujaku dives for him, pinning him down and tickling his sides thoroughly. He laughs helpessly, and they roll over the bed, the obi sliding over the edge along with the leather pouch, followed by the coat in a soft cloud of fabric. Soon enough, Aoba’s giggles turn into moans again, and he’s arching into Koujaku, Koujaku holding on tightly to Aoba, happiness engulfing them. 

“I love you,” he murmurs to Koujaku, beaming up at him. 

“I love you too,” Koujaku says back, and kisses him.


End file.
